


Turn

by perplexed



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Gen, Insanity, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-10 01:46:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5564242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perplexed/pseuds/perplexed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn't have long left, he knew that much...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn

**Author's Note:**

> I was prompted to write this by a lovely anon on Tumblr!! 'Insane yogscast member in the zombie apocalypse infects their friends ~~and makes them pets~~ :) (lewis)'
> 
> I kind of went a little off the prompt with this, but there is copious amounts of insanity!
> 
> Sooo... This is also my first fic in the Yog fandom! Be gentle with me, senpais. Of course it'd have to be something off the wall, lol.

He didn't have long left, he knew that much.

Lewis could almost feel the sickness seeping through his veins, feel the concealed bite on his thigh pulsing with every laboured beat of his heart. His skin had taken on a deathly pallour already and it had only been twenty hours since he was bitten on a supply run, having not been fast enough with swinging the bat clutched in his clammy hands to prevent the inevitable.

Lying on his bedroll, amongst his friends, with the relative quiet of the night washing over him, Lewis felt something snap. He wasn't really a violent person, never had been, couldn't have said 'Boo!' to a goose, and yet... Knowing he only had a limited time left snapped something inside him, or maybe that was the sickness beginning to rot his brain from the inside out. Either way, Lewis quietly got up, wiped the cold sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, and crept towards the supply closet in the safe house. With only minimal clattering, Lewis found a few useful things - cable ties, a couple of pairs of nearly broken handcuffs, and an unloaded rifle that would do for smacking people with. Lewis hoped it wouldn't come to that, hoped that his friends would _want_ to go with him to whatever lay beyond the hellscape they were inhabiting, but the rational slice of his brain knew that none of them would come quietly.

Sips was the first that Lewis targeted, knowing that he was probably most likely to be able and willing to take him out. He managed to cable tie Sips' hands together across his chest where he was sleeping, blissfully grateful that his first target was easy enough. Next was Duncan, then Sjin, then finally, Trott. Lewis struggled a little with Trott and his spread-eagle sleeping position, and he was the first to wake up while Lewis was clicking the handcuffs closed around his wrists.

"Lewis?" Trott mumbled sleepily, trying to throw his arm over his eyes and failing thanks to them being bound together. Lewis grinned maniacally above him, and even through his sleep-addled brain fog, he registered that something was entirely not right. "Lewis?" He repeated, louder this time. "The fuck are you doing, mate?" Trott sat bolt-upright, only to be shoved down by Lewis' hand on his chest.

"Shut up," Lewis hissed, pulling the rifle from where it was slung over his shoulder and bringing the butt of the gun down on the side of Trott's head with a sickening crack.

\---

It was definitely the sickness making him like that, Lewis realised in a moment of lucidity. He was sitting in front of the three of his friends, now lined up against the far wall. Well, as lined up as you could get unconscious bodies, at least. He felt like crying for a fleeting minute, felt the weight of what he was doing settle firmly on his shoulders, but as soon as it was there, it was gone again, overtaken by violent urges.

Duncan was the first to stir, opening his eyes despite the drying blood splattered across his eyelids. "Wha' th'?" He mumbled, speech slurred from the after effects of a head wound and blunt trauma to one of his temples. Lewis got up and scuttled over to where Duncan was lying on the concrete floor, looming over him with his greying hands clutching at the barrel of the rifle.

"Don't you want to come with me?" Lewis whispered, the fear eminating from Duncan almost tangible in the small, damp room. "Don't you want all of us to be friends forever?"

Lewis cackled, the sound trailing into a cough, which turned into a hack which brought blood up from his lips, spattering the red liquid across his mouth, his chin and the front of his shirt.

"Lewis, it's not too late, you can st-" Another crack over the head with the rifle butt, gentler this time, but still hard enough to knock Duncan down to the ground after his previous head injury.

"It's too late for some of us," a murmur rose from Lewis' lips as he licked the decaying blood from them.


End file.
